The Horns of Ylmir
by 16-horses
Summary: In which Tuor Ulmondil writes a song, marries Idril, and faces off with Maeglin, and we learn a little of the secret personalities of the lords of Gondolin. Rated for some violence and kissing and creepiness. Cover art is by me. DISCLAIMER: The song is by J.R.R. Tolkien.


It's almost the day I knew would always come. By always I mean ever since I laid eyes on the king's daughter Idril. I wonder she hasn't married before this.

When I first saw her as my guide Voronwë and I walked into the king's presence, it was like falling into a dream. The king sat on his throne, proud and regal and wise, his white raiment and crown of garnets reflecting the light that came in golden shafts through the windows. On his right was his nephew Maeglin, his hair falling over his shoulders like shadow's wings, his dark eyes burning with a piercing light. I shuddered then, and my eyes moved from the darkness that was Maeglin to the king's left, where stood his daughter.

Ah, Idril Celebrindal, Sparkling Brilliance, Silver-foot. My eyes trembled to look upon her, tall and fair as any of the daughters of the Eldar. My heart quickened when she looked at me and I saw myself in her eyes.

And now the day has come: when King Turgon the Wise of Gondolin will wed his only daughter to me, Tuor Ulmondil, a son of the Atani, but blessed to be permitted to wed an Elven princess. It helped, of course, that my ancestors are of some renown in Gondolin. After all, would you let your daughter marry a complete stranger (and a Mortal Man, no less) that turned up at your gates with a subject of yours whom you thought was long-dead and says that Ulmo the Lord of the Waters had sent him to you? If you had never heard of the man or his family before, you would probably send him packing.

I stand in the center of the great hall, my gaze roving over the pillars of alabaster, the vaulted ceiling as high as heaven, the stained glass windows that tell the stories of the Eldar in Valinor. Turgon and all his lords are here with me, arguing out some details. Watching them, standing shoulder to shoulder and looking uncertain at what Turgon is saying, I can imagine what each one is thinking. Ecthelion, standing there under his spiked helm, hand on his sword, can only think of one thing, his all-consuming concern. _I hope no one wants me to play the flute again. I need to make sure the Great Gate is guarded sufficiently, and I won't have time to spare having fun. I've got to talk to Elemmakil about those new recruits, and the proposition of a larger guard…_ Blah, blah, blah.

Rog, tall and dark, ever clad in armor, casts poisonous glances at the king's nephew. _If that creep Maeglin gets any ideas, he's going to find out very soon why my House is called the Hammer of Wrath._ Maeglin himself sways a little as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, his ridiculously long hair brushing his knees, and I know what dark thoughts stir in his mind. I can tell by his smile. _Turgon had better change his mind about this engagement. If I don't get to marry Idril, I think I'll just run off to Morgoth and tell him where Gondolin is._

Fair, radiant Egalmoth swishes his blue mantle embroidered with crystal stars about his legs, lifting his chin a little. I have seen him striking poses when he thought he was alone. _'Make sure you wear your best' he says. Does he think we're going to show up looking like Naugrim?_ Though Penlod is the tallest of the lords, he always looks just a touch disheveled. He has a lot to do, I'm sure. _So the king wants us each to carry a banner with the symbol of our House on it. Why does he keep forgetting I'm the lord of two Houses? How can I carry two banners?_

Galdor always wears green, and it is no challenge to guess at his thoughts. _I really wish we could have had this celebration outside. The trees make for a much more free and natural setting than all these pillars._ Duilin is still wearing his feathered helmet; he is playing with his hair and looks as though he wants to be somewhere else. _This is going to be really boring, I'm sure. I get nervous if I'm too still for too long. I wonder if I can persuade the king to hold an archery contest. But Egalmoth would probably win that._ Golden-haired Glorfindel looks more at ease than his fellow lords, his face bright and thoughtful, a small smile on his lips. It seems that Maeglin and I are not the only ones who have had our eyes on Idril. _I would it were me to wed the princess, but I'm happy for Tuor. He's gotten a great treasure, to be sure._ Indeed he has.

And short, nervous Salgant who is, as we all know, practically a crony of Maeglin's, can only bite his lower lip and avoid Turgon's eyes. _I hope the prince does not do anything rash – I've seen the looks Rog gives him. For the sake of his wellbeing I would the betrothal be broken._

Well, all those anxious thoughts are very well for the lords, but as for I, Lord of the House of the White Wing, I am eagerly awaiting the moment when Idril and I shall be promised to each other. I can already envision our wedding day, and names for our children are already springing to mind…

It is a day later. I am standing on a balcony overlooking the Hidden City. I am composing a song that I will sing someday to our children.

' _Twas in the Land of Willows where the grass is long and green –_

 _I was fingering my harp-strings, for a wind had crept unseen_

 _And was speaking in the tree-tops, while the voices of the reeds_

 _Were whispering reedy whispers as the sunset touched the –_

"Oh, drat," I mutter. "What rhymes with reeds? Seeds, creeds, leads, meads – that's it, meads."

"Mead really has no place in a rhyme of nature, now does it?"

I jump a little at the sweet, silvery voice, but I let it flow over me as my beloved takes a place next to me and smiles, the wind coursing through her golden tresses, her raiment as blue as Egalmoth's mantle, blue as the eastern sky as the Sun sets. Ah, Idril Celebrindal, Sparkling –

I feel as though I have said that a thousand times already. I smile back at her and say, "No, meads as in meadows."

She sighs a little sigh of contentment. "What is this song about?"

"How Ulmo called me to the sea, where I lingered long days before I met my guide Voronwë."

"You should name if according so. A song of Ylmir."

I think about her suggestion. "It shall be so."

"Tomorrow, our betrothal shall be complete, and our dream will become a reality."

I take her in my arms and kiss her on the forehead. After only five or so years in Gondolin, I am lucky to be marrying her so soon; Turgon would have waited a few more years, but Idril reminded him that I am not immortal and that anything might happen to a Mortal Man in several years. It is such a sweet moment, and after the events of tomorrow it will be even sweeter. And then… oh, it is almost too lovely to think about.

It is tomorrow night! The bonding and blessing ceremony was beautiful. (Penlod held only one spear, but with two banners on it, each with the symbol of one of his Houses.) Idril wears a gown of green and silver, her hair bound by a silver circlet that trails thread-thin silver vines, her feet bare as always, and a light shines within her eyes like the mingling of the light of the Two Trees of Valinor, such as I have never seen, but looking into those eyes… I can imagine.

I am wearing the armor of my House, the wings of gulls sweeping from my silver helm, a cloak of swan-feathers on my mail-clad shoulders. I let my golden hair fall over my shoulders, not that it compares with Idril – I can't say a word without thinking of her.

And now comes the feast. I have purposely eaten nothing all day in preparation for it. Idril doesn't eat much, but I don't think that is intentional. She has always been a light eater.

All the lords look magnificent, but as soon as I catch sight of Maeglin, my mouth felt rather dry. He is wearing a long plain black tunic with black vambraces and pauldrons, and his hair hangs loose like dark silk curtains around his pale face, his only adornment a thin band of gold across his brow. He has not taken his eyes from Idril for one moment, and it disturbs me. When we first told each other of our love she had confided to me that Maeglin loved – and loves – her secretly, but it is a dark and dangerous love, not to mention they are too closely related. But none of this seems to matter to the prince.

I swallow one last mouthful and lean behind Idril toward Salgant, who is sitting across Maeglin. They are talking, and I don't like letting them converse without some outside ears listening in.

Maeglin says, "By far Idril is the most radiant tonight."

Salgant looks very uncomfortable as he answers, "But she is your first cousin!"

Maeglin laughs a little. "So what? Had the man from the sea never come, I assure you the king would have given her hand to whoever asked."

"I'm the only one you've ever told about your love, though." Salgant looks as though he would rather be anywhere but here. "And you know you cannot marry such close kin. You said yourself you wished no one to hear of your raging passion for your cousin, a passion you would kill for –"

"Shut it!" Maeglin hisses frantically. His dark eyes smolder and grow wide as he looks about to make sure no one heard Salgant's words. I slip back into my place very quickly and pretend to be engrossed in my roast hart. Raging passion? Kill? Great Valar, this is getting serious.

I feel slim little fingers take me by the shoulders and ease me back into my seat. They turn my head and I see Idril smiling up at me. Part of me knows she heard what her cousin and his accomplice were saying, but she is not going to let that ruin her joy. She kisses me, and I kiss her back.

When the feast is over Turgon (no doubt persuaded by Duilin and perhaps Egalmoth) announces an archery contest in the Square of the Folkwell. I prefer to watch, my skills with the bow being no match for the Elven lords. Duilin almost takes the completion, but when Egalmoth looses three arrows in the blink of an eye, while jumping from the back of a bewildered and slightly alarmed horse (or should I say he did a flip – the showoff), and all three arrows found their target, Duilin sighs and acknowledges him as the winner. Duilin probably could have leaped over Penlod's head, but his arrows might not have flown so true. What the prize is I do not hear, for something else catches my attention.

Idril is gone.

Part of me wants to believe that perhaps she left to freshen up a little, or she found she is hungrier than she thought, but then I notice that Maeglin is gone also.

I storm up to Salgant, drag him behind the trees that grow all about in the city, and slam him against a wall. I don't mean to be harsh, but seriously, what would you do if you suddenly noticed that your newly-wed wife and her creepy cousin are both gone? I do not for a moment doubt Idril's faithfulness; it is Prince Sharp Glance with whom I have to contend. I bring my face close to Salgant's and growl, "Where are Idril and Maeglin?"

"What are you talk-"

"Don't give me that! I said, where are they!?"

I almost feel sorry for Salgant. Almost. He says, "He – she left – he followed her to the King's Square, where Glingal and Belthil grow…"

Figures. Maeglin wants Idril where she will look most fair, beneath the two trees grown in likeness to Laurelin and Telperion of Valinor. I leave Salgant and rush to the King's Tower.

I have prepared myself for the worst, and as I creep into the King's Square I can see two figures beneath the boughs of Belthil, in heated argument. Idril looks only a little frightened and mostly angry – she was never one of those 'damsel in distress' types. Maeglin has her by the wrists, and even as he argues with her he leans steadily forward while she cranes backward.

Enough is enough. I barrel toward them, shouting, "Let her go!"

At that instant, Maeglin, startled, overbalances and falls forward, taking Idril, unbalanced herself, with him. I don't think it was intentional, but as Maeglin falls on her his lips finally meet hers. Now that she is pinned beneath him, she cannot escape.

With a wild shout of no words in particular, I throw myself at the two and slam into Maeglin, knocking him off of Idril. He lets out a gasp as I hit his chest and stomach and knock the wind from him. His eyes bulge, and he seems a little incapacitated for the moment. I turn to Idril and help her to her feet. "Are you all right?" I ask.

She places a hand over her heard, but nods. "I'm fine. You came just in time. I would have called out to you, but he had me so tight…" She shivers a little.

I place my arms about her shoulders and begin stroking her hair, when running footsteps sound behind us. I turn my head to see Turgon, followed by all his lords (except Ecthelion – he slipped away to the Great Gate in the middle of the feast) and some of their folk, running into the Square, looking more alarmed that I have ever before seen him. His curling dark hair flies in all directions as he stumbles to a halt, every line of his face telling of extreme anxiety. "What – what is going on!?"

Maeglin, having recovered his breath, staggers to his feet and stands on shaky legs, pointing an unsteady finger at me. "He – he – attacked me!"

"You were kissing Idril!" I shriek.

"It was an accident!" he shrieks back. He's clever – it really was an accident that he kissed her when he did. But he would have kissed her all the same.

I don't care. I face him, thankful that tallness runs in my family. I can look directly into his eyes. He looks back, without a trace of guilt or shame. My mind is made up. I growl, "I'll kiss you," and I draw my arm back and punch him in the mouth. I hope I knocked all his teeth out. He falls over again, and chaos ensues.

Salgant is yelling that Maeglin meant Idril no harm – he sounds like he doesn't even believe that – Penlod looks about to thrash Salgant, Glorfindel is trying to get Idril away from the increasingly violent scene, Turgon is trying to make himself heard, and just as I am figuring out what to do, pain explodes in the back of my head, and I fall to the flagstones of the Square, blacking out for a moment. My vision clears to show Maeglin, blood on his lips, but with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. He crouches down over me and smiles, licking the blood from his teeth. I feel just a little annoyed that he still has all of them. "I still kissed her, Engwar! She was always rightfully mine. You don't know how long I've wanted to do this, second-born usurper!" And he starts to kick me.

I can't tell what's going on. Blood is dripping into my eyes as I curl up and try to protect my vitals, but he keeps kicking till pain throbs through my whole body and there is a strange whining sound that I think is coming from me.

And then it stops.

I uncurl to see Maeglin backing away, looking scared. I have never seen him scared before. Looking around, my blurry gaze takes in the lords standing all about me, faces dark with anger. Rog, Lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, advances upon my attacker. Tall and terrible, Rog takes slow, deliberate steps which undoubtedly scrape on Maeglin's nerves. Though they are both delvers and smiths, Rog has always been the larger and stronger of the two. The muscles of his huge arms tighten, his great fists clench, and his fiery eyes are set on Sharp Glance.

It is a wonderful thing, to have allies all about you, and to see that stricken expression on your enemy's face. Galdor helps me to my feet as I watch. Rog examines Maeglin for a moment, then without a word takes him by the collar and dumps him in one of the fountains before the door of the palace. I laugh, which soon turns to strangled gasping. Turgon wisely decides to end the celebrations before the disaster can become more complete.

My wedding to Idril did not quite go as I had planned, but I don't mind. It was certainly very lively, perhaps a little too lively. Turgon has now appointed Idril a House-carle from my House for her protection. Hendor is strong and loyal, and I know I can trust him. I still do not trust Maeglin, or Salgant. I am afraid they will try wreaking revenge on me soon, which is why I do not go off by myself much – not that having the king and all the lords about me saved me from a clobbering.

At any rate, I am content where I am. Idril is sewing a tapestry of my meeting with Ulmo. She can make legends come alive.

 _'Twas in the Land of Willows where the grass is long and green_

 _I was fingering my harp-strings, for a wind had crept unseen_

 _And was speaking in the tree-tops, while the voices of the reeds_

 _Were whispering reedy whispers as the sunset touched the meads_

 _Inland musics subtly magic that those reeds alone could weave_

 _'Twas in the Land of Willows that once Ylmir came at eve._

 _In the twilight by the_ _river on a hollow thing of shell_

 _He made immortal music, till my heart beneath his spell_

 _Was broken in the twilight, and the meadows faded dim_

 _To great grey waters heaving round the rocks where sea-birds swim._

 _I heard them wailing round me where the black cliffs towered high_

 _And the old primeval starlight flickered palely in the sky._

 _In that dim and perilous region in whose great tempestuous ways_

 _I heard no sound of men's voices, in those eldest of the days,_

 _I sat on the ruined margin of the deep-_ _voiced echoing sea_

 _Whose roaring foaming music crashed in endless cadency_

 _On the land besieged for ever in an aeon of assaults_

 _And torn in towers and pinnacles and caverned in great vaults;_

 _And its arches shook with thunder and its feet were piled with shapes_

 _Riven in old sea-warfare from those crags and sable capes._

 _Lo! I heard the embattled tempest roaring up behind the tide_

 _When the trumpet of the first winds sounded, and the grey sea sang and cried_

 _As a new white wrath woke in him, and his armies rose to war_

 _And swept in billowed cavalry toward the walled and moveless shore._

 _There the windy-bannered fortress of those high and virgin coasts_

 _Flung back the first thin feelers of the elder tidal hosts;_

 _Flung back the restless streamers that like arms of a tentacled thing_

 _Coiling and creeping onward did rustle and suck and cling._

 _Then a sigh arose and a murmuring in that stealthy-whispering van,_

 _While, behind, the torrents gathered and the leaping billows ran,_

 _Till the foam-haired water-horses in green rolling volumes came—-_

 _A mad tide trampling landward—and their war-song burst to flame._

 _Huge heads were tossed in anger and their crests were towers of froth_

 _And the song of the great seas_ _were singing was a song of unplumbed wrath,_

 _For through that giant welter Ossë's trumpets_ _fiercely blew,_

 _That the voices of the flood yet deeper and the High Wind louder grew;_

 _Deep hollows hummed and fluted as they suck the sea-winds in;_

 _Spumes and great white spoutings yelled shrilly o'er the din;_

 _Gales blew the bitter tresses of the sea in the land's dark face_

 _And wild airs thick with spindrift fled on a whirling race_

 _From battle unto battle, till the power of all the seas_

 _Gathered like one mountain about Ossë's awful knees,_

 _And a dome of shouting water smote those dripping black facades_

 _And its catastrophic fountains smashed in deafening cascades._

 _Then the immeasurable hymn of Ocean I heard as it rose and fell_

 _To its organ whose stops were the piping of gulls and the thunderous swell;_

 _Heard the burden of the waters and the singing of the waves_

 _Whose voices came on for ever and went rolling to the caves,_

 _Where an endless fugue of echoes splashed against wet stone_

 _And arose and mingled in unison into a murmuring drone—-_

 _'Twas a music of uttermost deepness that stirred in the profound,_

 _And all the voices of all oceans were gathered to that sound;_

 _'Twas Ylmir, Lord of Waters, with all-stilling hand that made_

 _Unconquerable_ _harmonies, that the roaring sea obeyed,_

 _That its waters poured off and Earth heaved_ _her glistening shoulders again_

 _Naked up into the airs and cloudrifts and sea-going rain,_

 _Till the suck and suck of green eddies and the slap of ripples was all_

 _That reached to mine isléd stone, save the old unearthly call_

 _Of sea-birds long-forgotten and the grating of ancieng wings._

 _Thus murmurous slumber took me mid those far-off eldest things_

 _(In a lonely twilit region down whose old chaotic ways_

 _I heard no sound of men's voices,_ _in those eldest of the days_

 _When the world reeled in the tumult as the Great Gods tore_ _the Earth_

 _In the darkness, in the tempest of the cycles ere our birth),_

 _Till the tides went out, and the Wind died, and did all sea music's cease_

 _And I woke to silent caverns and empty sands and peace._

 _Then the magic drifted from me and that music loosed its bands—_

 _Far, far-off, conches calling—lo! I stood in the sweet lands,_

 _And the meadows were about me where the weeping willows grew,_

 _Where the long grass stirred beside me, and my feet were drenched with dew._

 _Only the reeds were rustling, but a mist lay on the streams_

 _Like a sea-roke drawn far inland, like a shred of salt sea-dreams._

 _'Twas in the Land of Willows that I heard th' unfathomed breath_

 _Of the Horns of Ylmir calling—and shall hear them till my death._


End file.
